


Solo Dirge

by inklet



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Multi, One-Sided Attraction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-26
Updated: 2016-06-26
Packaged: 2018-07-16 22:31:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7287298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inklet/pseuds/inklet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A lesson in love, helplessness, and the similarities between the two. Dorian's patience is practiced. Cole's question is met with an answer, but satisfaction evades them both.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Solo Dirge

"His chest would be warm, arms like irons. I've been too restful for too long, but it's too much, too fast. So close. He disturbs me when I sleep."  
  
_Kaffas._

He was doing it again, reciting your inner troubles aloud to hit the corners of the cold room. Cole had always possessed the most infuriating knack for verbally outing one's inner strife, but even so, his tendency to be untimely had never been so starkly awful. It's not entirely intentional; a spasm.

Dorian's lips currently pressed gently to the spirit's fair neck was a paragon illustration of what was not to be interrupted with such things. He let out a soft growl of disapproval into the dry skin of that sheet-white throat, stiffening, the rigidity in his whole body a clear warning that he was considering a withdrawal. His companion did not seem able or willing to interrupt his emotional outpour, much to the mage's obvious distaste.

"I would give all of me for one turn of his head, willingly, wound around and within him until I dwindle away," he continued, fragile, the emotion he discovered behind this sad truth giving a distinct tremble to his tone. Dorian's pain was contagious, difficult to narrate without contraction.  
  
It bore so much, though, like biting into a perfectly ripe fruit. It hung heavily, appealingly, difficult to resist. Cole's lips sought the skin elsewhere for the same perfection in each following bite, listening for that pleasing snap between his teeth which preceded the trickle of nectar. Intoxicating.  
  
"Cole."

"Fire. Hot, suffocating, it sears and smothers like smoke seeping into my every pore. I shouldn't, I can't. It wasn't meant to be. He's scalding, but unaware."

A cuss aloud broke the concentration. Dorian's eyes finally rolled behind the partial sheath of his dark lids. "I so wish you'd nix the dismal analysis at times such as these," he spat, releasing the bony hips that had found themselves beneath his textured palms. "I don't understand why I continue to make an appearance when each moonlit visit ends as though I just spoke with the personification of my very least agreeable inner demons."

Cole's face saddened. "I do."

"Yes, well." Dorian's hands perched themselves at his own hips instead. "I completely believe you. I would, however, be greatly appreciative if you kept the specifics to yourself. I don't know how much more I can take tonight." He and the fruit he offered grew bitter, like an aftertaste of poison. Cole's initial rush often was chased by the misfortune of sharing one's pain. Juices dried on his tongue and sucked from him any moisture in their leave.  
  
Emptiness. A failed idea, aspirations shed to the unforgiving progression of life with opposing direction. Rejection, the sting of going without and continuing to crave.

His plea fell on deaf ears, the grieving contortion of Cole's expression failing to dissipate. It was as if he'd realized something inconsolably sorrowful; incapable of halting the projection onto his features. He reached out, fragile, fingers curled in the petite alignment of a porcelain doll granted brief animation. His head tilted to the side, analyzing, stilling the moment into something too meaningful to let be broken and wasted.  
  
Dorian's temper never shrank Cole, never reduced him to timidness. He was powerful, but full of good, too damaged to blame for his abrasiveness.

"You have so much pain," Cole observed, nothing but a sympathetic whisper, and the gentle tone in his voice nigh shattered the keep. It didn't seek to solve his problem. It wasn't doused in the offensive edge of a personal curiosity, the kind that inspired Dorian to flare in frustration.

Dorian's eyes brimmed almost reflexively when those cold digits graced his cheek, sparking an inner debate on leaning into the touch or heatedly marching from the room. Vulnerability, a practice in trust. "Yes," he settled upon, joining him in a rare acknowledgement of grief. "Some times more than others. You have a talent for catching me at the worst of times," he mused, a dim smile audible in his private mumbling. Cole perked, urgent.  
  
"I want to help." His voice regained its usual passion. Optimism, interest piqued at the very notion that he might relieve some of that ache, but it's met with a polite shake of the head. "Cole," he began, the gruff, firm emphasis that typically quieted him when he revealed too much around the others.  
  
Unflinching, Cole's lips tightened around his overbite. Embraced the sadness along with him, trying to learn how to leave be what could not be mended, swallowing his reflexes. When he spoke again, he drew his own conclusion. "But I can't," he finished reluctantly, emotionally, whitish hair finding its way back down across his face. Mathematically, connections were made. Sad ones, but Cole wanted to learn how to digest them with acceptance.  
  
"Love isn't enough again." He understood.  
  
Dorian rolled his lower lip underneath his top teeth, abruptly moved, allowing one hand to slide along the lithe boy's waist to bring him closer again.  
  
He exhaled, idled a minute. "That's right."  
  
Cole's own arms wrapped themselves around the Tevinter's neck in return, forehead perched on his shoulder. He always hugged clumsily, all long, jagged limbs and cold skin, but the gesture itself tugged distinctly on Dorian's heart and swelled him in an unfamiliar way. Intimacy with purpose.  
  
Home would scowl. His father would never understand, regardless of how hard he tried, and perhaps that part of it hit him hardest. Irreparable.  
  
Dorian pet his light hair, but it was only seconds until Cole pulled back somewhat to look up. "It's okay," he said slowly, framing the sides of his face with his rough, icy palms. It was heartbreaking, how earnestly he wanted to communicate that, and they were words that could be trusted.  
  
Shockingly, he believed him.  
  
It was everything Dorian needed to hear, met with a warming stare at those chapped, bluish lips. He pecked a small kiss to them. "Thank you," he offered graciously, dipping him against the bed, allowing his head to drift away to the sound of buckles clicking and the little huffs of air escaping Cole's nose as they embraced nakedly. He felt his skin and squeezed him solidly, eyes shut to enjoy the eager response. Soon. Soon, it would feel okay.  
  
In the morning, Sera peels an orange and eyes the two men with quiet understanding.  
  
"Hello," Dorian offers through his teeth from above his breakfast, breaking a long stretch of silence that only had not yet occurred to Cole and their fine Inquisitor. Sera jumps on the opportunity, slamming an elbow down on the shared table and leaning closer. "So, writing's well enough on the wall. Passed my quarters last night, didn't you? Left turn, one possible destination. Slipped off for some dirty work, yeah? Real dirty. Table for two."  
  
Dorian continues to eat, eyebrows lifting to show that he is dispassionately listening.  
  
"What's it like, aye?" Her words stumble around the orange slice in her mouth, the tang twisting her face and tone. "Curiosity's sake. Not like there's much like it in my future, anyways. Shortage of applicable parties. Might as well gun for the next best thing, straight from the horse's hairy mouth."  
  
Cole looks between Dorian and the elf, lowering the piece of bread he's been nibbling like a mouse. It's hard to tell whether or not he understands what is being referenced, a blank look on what's shown of his face. His eyes direct to him, too, concealed though they are, contemplating speaking.  
  
Dorian stands and dabs his lips with a little cloth, clearing his throat. "Too much talking," he finally answers, picking up his plate and its leftovers.  
  
He gives Cole a meaningful look, playful as he passes, and he makes absolute sure he doesn't turn to see if the Inquisitor's interest is piqued. He wouldn't care to look and Dorian knows that; an ache in his heart is as good as one into Cole's, however. It's his newest and most important reason not to beg for further disappointment, sulking over his own unwise infatuation.  
  
Sera snorts and the Inquisitor rubs his fingers together with discomfort. Cole doesn't miss a single thought racing through the noble man's head.  
  
_Oh._


End file.
